


i will not mourn who i was that has gone away

by wolfchester



Category: Outer Banks (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, sad feels, ten years after the end of season 1, the character death tag is bc john b and sarah r dead.....sorry, the pogues are terrible at dealing with grief and trauma but who can blame them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:07:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27586538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfchester/pseuds/wolfchester
Summary: Pope got a scholarship to Princeton. He left two weeks after senior graduation.Kiara never called.And JJ was alone, just as he had predicted.For ten fucking years.(in which john b and sarah really do die, and the pogues get separated - for a decade. they meet again at the ten year anniversary memorial service for their best friends. things between jj and kiara spiral from there.)
Relationships: JJ/Kiara (Outer Banks)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 55
Collections: Jiara Ocean Kiss Soulmate Endgame Excellence (aka a jiara-centric fic collection)





	i will not mourn who i was that has gone away

**Author's Note:**

> ...........yeah. this is gonna be fun. and sad. (but happy at the end, i promise !!!)
> 
> a side project while i work on finishing spinning in circles (all my other wips are laughing at me....sorry my dudes but ya gotta go where the muse takes you)
> 
> angsty, because it seems like that's the only thing i wanna write <3
> 
> i hope you all enjoy !!
> 
> (also, the title and the lyrics on the first chapter are from the song 'i will not mourn who i was that has gone away' by field medic. recommended listening for sure. i also binge-listened to 'let go' by sharon van etten, 'we used to' by donovan woods, and 'a hole in the earth' by daughter while writing this, so take that as you will)

**i will not mourn who i was that has gone away**

_i swear these crows keep getting bigger_

_hanging off the fence posts together_

_nothing’s moving, there’s no winter_

_drawn to thrill, drawn to surrender_

_but somewhere deep inside my memory_

_there’s a kid with a neck so slender_

_capsized & ten years later _

_his arms are tattooed, he looks like a sailor_

_but i will not mourn who i was that has gone away_

_she’s assumed relaxation’s posture_

_so everyday she’s underwater_

_isolation, cave mouth darkness_

_trying to say something but she makes no sense_

_somewhere deep inside her memory_

_there’s a kid who would just go walking_

_24th street thrift shopping_

_she looks so happy trying on a costume_

_but she will not mourn who she was that has gone away_

_how do you perceive the morning sun?_

_after endless days of dull repetition_

_are you reaching out or are you reaching through?_

_are you a ghost in an empty room?_

‘i will not mourn who i was that has gone away’ - field medic

* * *

**THEN.**

The Sheriff’s office announced that Sarah Cameron and John Booker Routledge were missing presumed dead two weeks after the night they disappeared.

There was a funeral. For Sarah, at least. A big, fancy one where everyone wore black suits and black dresses and cried into their hankies as a priest led the crowd in a hymn. A picture of Sarah, wide-eyed and smiling, sat on top of an empty casket, surrounded by too-sweet pink and white flowers. 

JJ had hated it. 

Kie and Pope had seemed to hate it, too. 

Partly because they had to suffer through Ward Cameron’s twenty minute speech about how much he _loved_ his daughter, how much he _missed_ her, when all three of them knew it was his fucking fault she and John B were gone.

But mostly because John B and Sarah weren’t dead.

It had only been two weeks. There were plenty of small islands around the Outer Banks, or further down the coast. Surely they had made their way to one of these piles of sand, found some fresh water, caught some fish to eat. Surely they were just waiting for someone to rescue them.

 _Why was no one going to rescue them?_ was the thought that plagued JJ’s mind through the whole funeral. _Why are we sitting here having a pretend fucking funeral when they’re still out there?_

They weren’t dead, because they couldn’t be. Because John B wasn’t supposed to die. John B was meant to be invincible. And JJ was meant to protect John B from ever feeling like he _wasn’t_ invincible, because if JJ couldn’t protect the people he loved, then his life wasn’t worth anything.

After Sarah’s funeral, the three Pogues that were left behind had another, private send off for their fearless leader. 

They gathered down at the jetty by the Chateau, armed with bottles of beer and candles and one of John B’s favourite bandannas. Working in silence, they put together a little raft with some reeds and sticks, topped it with a few candles and the bandanna, and set it off to float out over the water.

Pope and Kie had cried the whole time.

JJ hadn’t. At least, not until the makeshift raft with the candles and the bandanna had disappeared from sight. 

“I don’t know why we’re doing this shit,” he’d said to the others while angrily wiping away tears with the back of his fist. “John B’s not dead.”

Pope and Kie hadn’t said anything.

JJ told himself it was because they were too choked up to speak.

(But maybe it was because they hadn’t believed him.)

*

One week after the funeral, Kie told them that she was leaving, moving to an all-girls boarding school in Virginia.

Well, she didn’t exactly _tell_ them. JJ found out from Pope the day she was meant to go.

He was furious. Had half a mind to march down to her parents house and confront her about it. About how she was being a shitty friend by leaving. How she couldn’t leave, not so soon after John B and Sarah.

Turns out, he didn’t have to. 

Kie had shown up to the Chateau -- the place JJ had been crashing since the Phantom went down -- all on her own.

Not to apologise, though. Or confess her plans. Instead, she was armed with a bag and a tight, grim frown, ready to collect some items of clothing she’d left behind after years of sleepovers and late nights at the old fish shack.

So comfortable she was with the house and with JJ, Kie hadn’t even bothered to knock. Had just stormed right in with her canvas bag (because of _course_ it wasn’t plastic) and started picking shit up off the floor.

JJ had been on the couch, guzzling a beer, trying to make up his mind about whether he should drive over to yell at Kie or not. And then she was just _there_ , not looking at him, just shoving smelly old t-shirts and socks into the bag.

He had stood straight up, stomped over in his clunky work boots to where she was standing in the doorway of the spare bedroom. He had leant against the wall, let the beer bottle dangle at his side, and snarled, “Were you ever planning on telling us that you were going? Or were you just gonna pack up and leave without saying goodbye?”

And she had acted like she hadn’t heard him. Continued stuffing random shit into the bag. Turned the room upside down looking for something, silent while she pushed pillows out of the way and kicked old cans around until she found it: one of those little woven bracelets they used to make all the time. JJ recognised the colouring as one John B had braided.

Then she tried to push her way past him out of the door, but he had stopped her with his body in front of hers, and said _,_ “Kie, look at me.” She wouldn’t look him in the eyes, looked everywhere apart from his face, but she had stopped moving. And he’d said her name again, _pleaded_ , “ _Kiara—”_

That was when she had looked at him, right in the eyes, and he had realised she was crying. Brown eyes rimmed red, cheeks puffy, lips wobbling: the whole shebang. “I don’t want to go, okay?” she had said, voice all shaky. “I don’t want to go. But I have to. They won’t let me—” She’d squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, curls tumbling around her shoulders, and his heart had been in his throat. “It’s for the best, JJ,” she had said when she looked back up at him again.

“For the best?” he’d bit back, because he was angry as fuck and upset and frustrated and feeling like he was being abandoned, which always made him lash out. “Is that what your parents said?” She had flinched at that. “C’mon, Kie. You don’t have to go.” He was aware at how pathetic he sounded, practically begging for her to stay, but fuck his pride, fuck _everything_ . She couldn’t go. She _couldn’t._

“Stop making this harder than it needs to be,” she’d replied with clenched teeth. “I’ve already said goodbye to Pope. Let me say goodbye to you, and then—“ She had tried to push past him again, and he almost let her this time, stopping her from walking out the door with only his free hand on her arm.

“Kiara, I—” he’d started, probably about to say something fucking stupid like _I need you_ or _I won’t be able to handle it if you go._ Or even worse, because he’d had a dumb crush on her ever since he saw her in a bikini in ninth grade (a crush that unfortunately went a lot deeper than just how good her boobs looked in Billabong-branded spandex), something like _I love you._

But she had interrupted him with a sharp tug of her arm. “Let me go, JJ,” she had slowly, as if that would help him understand.

He knew, logically, that she was referring to his hand gripping her arm, so he released it quickly. But there was still a niggly voice in the back of his head telling him that she wasn’t just talking about his hand, but about his heart.

Let her go?

How could he?

How could he _ever_ let her go?

JJ Maybank rarely ever had any constants in his life. Not school, not shelter, not safety. Food was never a constant; not with the way his dad spent his paychecks on horse racing and drink and cigarettes. Love was certainly never a constant, either.

But friendship. That was always solid. That always stuck. John B and Pope and Kiara.

With John B gone, JJ was down to only two.

If Kiara left, that’d be just one.

And Pope would leave eventually, JJ knew. He wasn’t made for a life on the Cut. Pope Heyward was made for Harvard and Yale and all of those stuck-up Kook universities. He was made for a good job and a nice wife and two-and-a-half kids, living anywhere but by the salt marsh and the sea and the stinking fishing docks of the Outer Banks.

JJ knew that if he let Kiara go right then, in a year or two he’d be by himself in this shithole of a town.

And maybe it was selfish of him to beg her to stay, but he couldn’t give up without a fight.

She didn’t say goodbye when she finally walked out the door. She had just looked at him with sad, sad brown eyes, sighed, and turned away.

*

Pope got a scholarship to Princeton. 

He left two weeks after senior graduation.

Kiara never called.

And JJ was alone, just as he had predicted.

For ten fucking years.

**Author's Note:**

> how are we feelin, team????? let me know in the comments beloooooow xoxo
> 
> and follow me on tumblr @jjmaybank. be my friend. pls. <3


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